Suppressio Veri
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: Legal term meaning 'the suppression of truth" - The story of how an unlikely friendship with rocky beginnings blossoms into something much more. These are the times Matthew and Mary admit the truth, and the one time he just can't keep a secret. Modern!AU
1. The Truth Will Out

_Had this little brainwave after I'd been up all night writing an essay, so forgive me if it makes no sense. Mary/Matthew is relatively new territory for me, but I'm fascinated by what I imagine their contemporary counterparts to be... Enjoy :) _

* * *

The hours tick away and he's getting nowhere. The same page of Hanbury and Martin's _Modern Equity_ has been staring up at him for the past two hours, lecture notes scatter the desktop, and he's already gone through four Creme Eggs – desperate times and all that. With a sigh, he runs a hand through his floppy blonde hair and, for about the twelfth time, attempts to read the paragraph on _Donatio Mortis Causa. _He only gets as far as _Re Gonin_before what little motivation he has dissipates once more, and he silently curses whoever let him believe a law degree would be a good idea.

With less than a month to go until his first exam, Matthew had locked himself away in the library in a futile attempt at finally settling down to revise – but he's getting nowhere. His mind begins to wander once again, but he tells himself to get a grip, man up, and just remember that it's only a few more weeks of hell before he'll have that blissful taste of freedom.

Third time lucky?

Not a chance.

He's distracted this time by the sound of heels clacking loudly on the floor, acrylic nails tapping furiously (and rather annoyingly) on the keys of a Blackberry. Chewing his pen, Matthew looks up and sees a familiar face – she's familiar to most people, but to him more than anyone really. She's the one in all the magazines – Mary Crawley's face graces the pages of style and gossip columns, but that's only to be expected when you're descended from the aristocracy and your father has just taken over from Alan Sugar on '_the Apprentice_'. Women want to be her, and men just want to be **with **her. They'd met two-and-a-half years ago, having been forced to live together in halls, and hadn't exactly got off to the best start. She'd overheard him talking about her to their other housemates about how it was an absolute joke that they'd been lumbered with a socialite to whom a washing machine and how it worked was an alien concept and it had gone downhill from there. He'd been incredibly patronising in those early days – of course she knows how a washing machine works, it just so happens that she rarely gets to put that knowledge into practice (it's hardly her fault that her parents had always had 'people' that they sent washing to). However, the storm had passed and the pair had been good friends for some time now.

She flings her bag down and sits opposite him in a huff. Matthew leaves it a moment before asking her what's wrong – he knows better than that now, and it's a lesson he's learnt the hard way.

"Un-bloody-believable," she says, a little louder than necessary given where they are. She immediately goes off on a full blown rant about the paparazzi, the lack of privacy, and how, yet again, her latest potential boyfriend has turned out to be, in her words, "a bit of a dick."

Mary glances up at Matthew and sees that he's focused on his work. She leans back in her chair, folds her arms across her chest, and gives him **that** look. "Are you even listening to me?"

Matthew doesn't say anything – he continues writing and presses a finger to his lips.

"Are you shushing me?"

Matthew nods. "You **are** being rather loud."

"I am **not** loud! I'm going through a crisis, so do forgive me if I don't intend to sit here in silence!"

Matthew smirked. "Mary, darling, you're in a library... silence is generally what's expected in these places."

She rolls her eyes and sighs in frustration. "There's nobody else here."

"That's not the point," Matthew chuckles. A comfortable silence passes between them for a moment or two and, for the first time since she arrived, he takes notice of her appearance as she rummages around for something in her Mulberry Daria Hobo bag ("Seven-hundred-and-ninety-five pounds for a handbag!" he'd exclaimed when she'd proudly flaunted it in front of him for the first time. "You already have a handbag! Several, in fact... you can't possibly need another one." Her reply had simply been that he was a man and therefore didn't understand). Her long chocolate brown hair falls in soft waves down past her shoulders. He adores her hair like this, it's a refreshing change from seeing it tied up all the time, and he'd been incredibly thankful when she decided against cutting it all off last summer. It's when she tucks it behind her ear that he notices the tiny white gold studs in her ears – they're four leaf clovers which she wears for luck... and on dates.

"You look nice," Matthew tells her. "Are you going somewhere?"

"This is what I have been **trying** to tell you, but you've been too busy reading... oh, I don't know..." Mary shuffles his papers a bit, looking for something she can use – but it's all nonsense and may as well be in a foreign language. "Cases! Oh, Matthew, it was awful. **He **was awful."

Matthew doesn't quite know what else to do or say, so he hands her one of his last Creme Eggs in an attempt to cheer her up.

"What I don't understand is why you'd agree to go if you don't even like the man."

"Papa suggested it."

"You went on a date with a man because your father told you to?"

"It isn't that simple. I'm trying to stay in his good books. Did I tell you he keeps threatening to cut me off?"

"Alright then, you went on a date with a man because your father has threatened to take your credit card off you. Why?"

Mary can't help but laugh. "You'll think me terribly childish. Edith likes him and so, naturally, I had to have him."

Smirking again, Matthew shakes his head. "You know, sometimes I am so glad I'm an only child."

"Yes, and I bet you were spoiled rotten by mummy and daddy as a boy."

"Pot. Kettle. Black," he replies. They're unashamedly flirting in their secluded corner of the library, _Modern Equity_ long since forgotten. He must admit, this is a much more pleasurable way to spend an evening. He tries to focus on his work again, twiddling his pen in his ink stained fingers – but it's useless. He can hear her texting again, the ripping of foil, and the gentle '_crack_' as her teeth crack through the chocolate. He looks up and finds himself staring at her – she does quite literally make his jaw drop. He's always told himself that, just because he finds her physically attractive, doesn't mean he harbours any romantic feelings for her. Recently though, the tension and the chemistry between them has been building, and he's found himself doubting his affections for her – never more so than right now, when she's all dressed up with nowhere to go, and rather (unintentionally as it may be) seductively devouring a Creme Egg (and even that's something she manages to do with grace and dignity which, as anyone who has ever attempted to eat a Creme Egg will know, is not easy).

Mary scoops out the fondant filling and ever so slowly – **tantalisingly **slowly – sucks it off her finger as she looks at him. "Let's go out," she says after a moment or two.

"Mary, I can't. I have work to do."

"You've gone awfully boring recently."

"So you think me a very dull boy then?"

"Work hard, play hard, Matthew, that's all I'm saying."

"Yes, well, some of us aren't going to inherit daddy's millions, even if he is threatening to cut up our credit cards, and do actually have to get something called a **job **when all this is over. Therefore we need to work hard... **very** hard."

Mary sets her jaw, giving him the look again – the one that's all eyebrows and pouting. "I am going to get a job. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I will... just you wait and see. I'm open to options."

"Well, with I history degree, I suppose you could do archaeology or something, but we both know you'll quit the second you break a nail or get a bit of dirt on your shoes." He's mocking her now. She's grown up a hell of a lot since coming to University – the woman who sits in front of him is a far cry from that petulant, spoiled brat of a girl who he had first encountered almost three years ago. He'd thought her selfish and vain at first, but now he knows differently – she had always proclaimed that she didn't have a heart and that everyone knew it. She's wrong though, so very wrong. Mary Crawley has a heart of gold – you just need to chip away a few layers to find it.

She doesn't quite know what to say – the man really is impossible sometimes. She studies him for a moment – he's sitting there looking all smug because he thinks he's won their little argument. He's made a start on his own egg now – the way he spoons out the middle using his tongue is awfully distracting. That's when she has an idea.

Mary leans in across the table, softening her gaze, and plays with her necklace – something she always does when she flirts. "Oh, I don't know... sometimes it's good to get a little dirty."

Matthew literally chokes on a piece of chocolate. "Is that so?" he asks, voice low and hoarse. His eyes briefly drop down to her lips – a tiny bit of fondant clings to her lip gloss and he suddenly has an overwhelming urge to kiss it off.

"Hello?" Their moment is shattered and they come crashing back into reality as they're interrupted.

Mary looks up and smiles politely at the pretty strawberry-blonde girl who now stands at their table, but it's Matthew she wants.

"Do you have those notes on fiscal and non-fiscal barriers to trade?"

"Ah, yes," he says, looking through his folders for the notes in question. "Can you email me yours on the Article thirty-six derogations?"

Mary's lost – it's all law talk and it's going straight over her head. How frightfully dull.

"Well, good luck with your revision. I'll see you in the lecture on Friday?"

Matthew nods and hands her the papers with a wink – the girl visibly swoons and Mary has to try her hardest to suppress a laugh.

"You ought to be careful," Mary says as she watches the girl leave. "You really don't want to go breaking her heart."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Oh Matthew, for someone so clever you really can be rather dense. She quite clearly fancies you, whoever she is."

Matthew raises his eyebrows at her. "Lavinia Swire? Me and Lavinia Swire? She's just a girl in my EU law tutorials. Don't get me wrong, she's nice, funny, intelligent, and I do think she'd make a fantastic girlfriend. Just not mine, even if she does, as you put it, fancy me... which is not something I could ever accuse you of."

Mary stares down at the table – if only he knew. "Do you know, I think you're one of the few men I've met these past few years who hasn't tried anything with me. Well, at least nothing beyond flirtation."

Matthew stacks his books, gets to his feet, and looks straight into her eyes. "No matter how much I might want to."

He doesn't give her much of a chance to respond as he picks up the books and vanishes into the dark labyrinth of shelves. He isn't getting away with it that easily though, and he hears her Louboutin-clad feet come running after him.

"What was that supposed to mean?" she asks as she corners him at last, trapped between two bookshelves.

Matthew smirks. "Well, you never really gave me a chance, did you? You hated me. Would you like me to remind you of some of the things you said about me when we first met?"

"Well, **you** were hardly nice to me," she says, leaning back against the shelf. "And, besides, I'm always telling you that you must pay no attention to the things I say."

"But, that's just the thing," his voice is deliciously low as leans forward, resting his hand flat against the bookcase next to her head – they're close, so impossibly, deliciously close. "I pay more attention to you than you realise."

She kisses him.

And it's wonderful.

The bubbling chemistry between them produces the most overwhelming reaction – the smell of old books and her perfume, the feel of her lips and tongue on his is like all his wildest fantasies coming true, and he groans as she rakes her fingernails across his scalp.

They eventually pull apart, smiling breathlessly at one another as he instinctively begins to play with the ends of her hair, his free hand finding hers and twining their fingers together.

"Your palms are damp," she comments.

"Your hand is shaking."

"I don't think we've been entirely honest with each other, have we?"

Matthew shakes his head. "Suppressio veri. The suppression of truth."

"I have absolutely no idea what that means," Mary says, and leans in to kiss him again. Somehow, their positions shift and he's the one with his back against the shelves. His arms are around her waist, hers around his neck as they devour each other and finally give in to the inevitable. For the fifth time this evening, Matthew Crawley's revision has been thrown off course...

...But this is by far the best distraction yet.


	2. When a Lass Needs a Lawyer

_So, it was only going to be a single chapter fic, but the amazing response I've had to this encouraged me to keep going. There's only one more chapter after this, I don't really want to drag it out too much. Anyway, here it is, part two - Enjoy :)_

* * *

**_Two years earlier_**

_Her nickname, 'Lady' Mary, could not be more inappropriate right now. She's usually so graceful and elegant, but not now. It's half-past-three in the morning and she's curled up in a ball on the floor of her tiny en-suite bathroom. She feels her stomach wretch again and she scrambles to her knees – so much for thinking it was over._

_ "I told you not to touch the tequila," says Matthew, feeling a little worse for wear himself as he slumps down against the wardrobe. _

_ "Shut up."_

_ He winces as he hears her vomit again and, when he's certain the worst of it has passed, he pops his head around the door to make sure she's alright. She's a mess, putting it bluntly – she's a shoe missing, her eyeliner is smudged, and a light sheen of sweat glitters on her porcelain skin. As she threw up once more, he does the gentlemanly thing and, kneeling down behind her, holds her hair back. _

_ "You don't have to do that you know," she slurs, letting her head fall back against his shoulder with her eyes screwed shut._

_ Matthew chuckles and rubs soothing circles on her back. "Yes I do. I'm repaying the favour. You did the same for me the night of my rugby initiation."_

_ "Ahhh, I'm surprised you remember."_

_ "The details are a little hazy, I'll admit."_

_ "Matthew."_

_ "Mmm?" _

_ "I don't want to dance."_

_ "You're not dancing..."_

_ "No, but you... you're making me. Stop spinning..."_

_ He laughs again. "Mary, we're sitting on the floor. I assure you, I'm not trying to make you dance." He sees her pout, brow creased in concentration as she desperately tries to come up with some kind of retort – her alcohol addled brain affords her no such capability though. With great effort, he manages to pull her to her feet, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her the short distance to her tiny bed. She curls up into a ball as he lays her down and, just for a moment, she looks so much younger than eighteen – so small and vulnerable. He grabs a handful of chocolate buttons from the open bag on her desk and gently nudges her shoulder._

_ "Mary? Mary, don't fall asleep. Not yet..." he says, climbing onto the bed to sit cross-legged with his back against the wall. _

_ Mary shifts and manages to sit up, which is a mistake because the blood rushes to her head and makes the room spin even faster. She takes a few of the chocolates from him and smiles thankfully. It's not ideal, but at least it's something small to settle her stomach and boost her blood sugar levels a bit – she's not been eating much recently, he's noticed, a sure sign that something's not alright. _

_ "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?"_

_ There's a moment of silence before she looks up at him, her big brown (albeit slightly bloodshot) eyes filled with sadness and worry. "Can I trust you?"_

_ Matthew nods. "I'd like to think so. I promise not to tell anybody."_

_ Mary sighs deeply, knowing that the only reason she's going to confide in him is that she's drunk. Sobriety would have meant secrecy, and she's not entirely sure just how much longer she can keep things bottled up – drunk or not, it's still surprising that it's Matthew Crawley of all people that she finds herself confiding in. _

_She tells him absolutely everything – from the venomous ex-boyfriend threatening to sell stories about her to the tabloids, the rumours that her father is having an affair with one of his secretaries, and how thirteen-year-old Sybil looks like she's heading for a full blown rebellion somewhere in the near future. _

_ It's rather a lot to take in when you're absolutely trollied._

_ "So, what do I do?" she asks, having sobered up substantially. "Do I just sit back and brave the storm or what?"_

_ "No..."_

_ "Then what do you suggest I do?"_

_ Matthew moves to sit beside her, stretching out his long legs. "You must become the storm," he replies. _

_Suddenly, all the layers have melted away and she's baring her soul to him for the first time – truth be told, Matthew doesn't think Mary's the kind of person to talk about her feelings very much anyway. All of a sudden, he understands why she is the way she is – the cold and carful Lady Mary Crawley, they call her behind her back. But it's all a front, a mask, and a way of stopping herself from getting hurt. She had been thrust into the public sphere at such an early age, what with her grandfather a high profile cabinet minister, her father a prominent and influential businessman in the city, and that's not to say anything of her mother's family over in America. It's no wonder she has trust issues, as she's just confessed that she does. _

_ "Oh, Matthew," she says, pulling him into her embrace. "I don't deserve your kindness. I've been such a cow."_

_ Matthew laughs again, savouring the warm weight of her in his arms. "Because I was raised to believe that you should never judge a person until you get to know them. I'd very much like to get to know you, Mary. Even if you have been permanently angry with me since the day we met."_

_ "My life makes me angry, not you," she smiles, playing with her necklace. "You're a real gentleman, Matthew Crawley. The world could do with more of those."_

_ "You flatter me, **lady**_ _Mary," he teases, knowing how much she abhors the nickname. _

_There's barely enough room for the two of them in the miniscule bed, but she cuddles up against him – perfectly innocently – and drifts off to sleep rather quickly. Matthew sighs contentedly as he reaches for the lime green blanket that covers her duvet, pulling it around them as the temperature drops considerably. The bin is positioned on the floor close by..._

_ ...Just in case. _

**_-xxx-_**

It's been over a month since they'd kissed in the library, and their exams are in full swing – as is their relationship. They spend their time together much as they did beforehand – dinner, drinks, vegging out on the sofa in pyjamas and hoodies watching Jeremy Kyle reruns on ITV2 in the middle of the afternoon (Matthew is also becoming rather partial to the Real Housewives of Orange County and a spot of Loose Women, much to Mary's amusement), except now there are the added bonuses of kisses and cuddles... Not to mention a little bit of shagging.

...Alright, maybe a lot.

She'd found him asleep at her kitchen table, his head resting between the pages of his Law of the European Union textbook, and half a cup of incredibly strong smelling coffee lies abandoned next to his laptop. Gently, she'd woken him and he'd followed her to bed where they'd made love in that lazy, sleepy way that she adores so much. It's as she lies here now, naked in his arms while he sleeps, that she thinks of that very first night they'd shared a bed together in first year. Ever since then, she's gone to him whenever something has been troubling her and, likewise, he has gone to her. They're good together, everyone can see that. She needs him and that would have terrified the old Mary – the cold and careful Mary who didn't have a heart – but his friendship has changed her, just as his love is starting to. Mary knows a month is an incredibly short time to be in a relationship, but their history makes her absolutely certain that her feelings for him are genuine – she's a woman who has fallen for her best friend, and she thinks she's loved him for a lot longer than she knew. They'll make it work beyond their graduation in July, they just have to.

But, love him as she may, there's just one thing that Mary's not quite happy about doing just yet, something that's caused their first real lovers tiff...

...Making it Facebook official.

**_TBC..._**

* * *

**_Next (and final) chapter: _**_Ten years had passed. They'd been on and off more times than Ken and Deirdre Barlow (she'd gotten rather into Coronation Street - proclaiming it 'research' for when she had moved to Manchester with him), other lovers had come and gone, but they'd always found a way back to each other. This was it now though, this was for keeps. He'd taken his time about it, but when he'd finally asked **the** question at her parent's New Year's Eve Party, she had answered him in a heartbeat... "Yes"._

_And today was the day that they sealed the deal._


	3. A Truth Universally Acknowledged

_The final chapter - Sorry it's long, I got carried away writing a bromance of epic proportions (Drunk!Matthew is so much fun to write - hence the reason the first half of this is so cracky. you have been warned), it makes sense though - I hope. I adore this chapter - I both laughed and sobbed whilst writing it. There are one or two references to classic British culture so, if anyone from over yonder seas is a tad confused, I can explain. _

_Anyway, Matthew and Mary have a secret... but can it stay that way or will the truth finally out? :)_

_**Author's Note: I've gone back and edited this chapter somewhat to fit in with the companion piece, All's Fair in Love and Law **  
_

* * *

**_Ten years later_**

Matthew stares at his best man, glassy eyed and jaw hanging open. "Just a few quiet drinks for Dutch courage," they'd said – but the thing is, there's no such thing as a few quiet drinks when these two get together, especially when it's been a long time since they've seen one another properly. They'd played rugby together at University and, six years ago, Matthew had introduced Tom to Mary's youngest sister, Sybil. They'd married shortly after Sybil had graduated and, six months ago, she had given birth to their first child – a daughter named Saoirse.

"Now... see... I... I have a wife. A gorgeous, funny, brilliant wife," Tom slurs, closing one eye and staring into his whisky glass. "Christ knows what she's doing with me. But, yeah... now I've got a... a..." he mimics the shape of a pregnant belly with his hand.

"Baby," Matthew replies, still staring blankly.

"Baby. And she's amazing... everyone's amazing. You're amazing."

"Thank you."

"Welcome. Yeah, anyway. My baby... she's..."

"Amazing?"

The Irishman nods. "Amazing. Anyway... Saoirse... she came from us. She's ours. And what Sybil had to go through, I mean... wow. Women... women are great."

Matthew nods. "Amazing," he mutters in agreement. He can't help but laugh to himself. Tom has matured into a loveable, happy drunk – he remembers the days early days when it had taken half the rugby team to hold him back if someone had started on him. His passionate Celtic heart gave him a fiery temper, but he'd mellowed since meeting Sybil. She brought out the best in his friend, and they were happy – Matthew thought that, even if he and Mary could only have a fraction of what they have, their marriage is going to be a success.

"Tom?"

"Mmm?"

"It's good, isn't it. Being a Dad, I mean."

"Yeah... I'ss great."

"I'm going to be a Dad."

"You already are... Lily."

Matthew shakes his head – his friend just doesn't understand what's going on. In fact, Matthew's not entirely sure what's going on either. "No, no, no... I **am**. Mary's pregnant."

Tom's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, blue eyes wide in amazement. "Wow. Brilliant. Ay, just thing, if it's a boy it's her something blue... Two stones, one bird."

"I just don't want to screw it up this time. Lil deserves so much better than me. Hopefully there's still time to put things right before she starts to hate my guts." Lily is his six year old daughter by ex-girlfriend Lavinia. After he and Mary had broken up for the first time, he'd found himself back in touch with his former classmate and their relationship had grown from there. Her pregnancy had come as a shock and, while he hadn't intended to marry her straight away, he had promised to be there for her and the baby no matter what. However, the reappearance of Mary into his life had thrown a spanner into the works and things hadn't exactly ended well between himself and Lavinia. He'd missed out on so much of Lily's childhood because of it, and even now he resents himself for it.

"Hey!" Tom chides. "She... she does **not** hate you. Things happened that were beyond your control. Anyway... if things hadn't ended with you and... err... ginger woman..."

"Lavinia."

"'vinia... then you an' Mary would never have got back together... not to mention you crashing her wedding in spectacular style."

Matthew laughs. "Every silver lining has a cloud!" he slurs.

"Exactly! You know what this calls for?"

"No. What?"

Tom necks the last of his whisky before slamming the now empty glass down on the tabletop and, with all the grace of a baby giraffe, gets to his feet. "More drink!"

"You know, you're practically a walking stereotype."

"Feck off."

**_-xxx-_**

Luckily, Sybil and Tom's flat wasn't too far away from the bar in Manchester city centre and, what with it being a relatively warm night, they decided to walk...

...Well, more like stagger.

After a quick pit-stop at the local kebab shop – where the owner had clearly mistaken them for a couple –they finally manage to find the right street. Tom fumbles in his pockets for his keys, panicking for a moment when he thinks he's lost both it and his phone. "Found it!" he proudly proclaims, holding up the key.

"Good, because I'm not sleeping on the street again. Not like your stag do in Dublin..."

"Ahh, good times."

"Got to be fresh because... _I'm getting married in the morning..._"

"_Ding dong, the bells are gonna chime._"

"_Pull out the stopper! Let's have a whopper... But get me to the church on time!"_ There's a round of applause from the other side of the street as they finish singing and fall about laughing. Mockingly, the pair take a bow, eliciting laughter from the gaggle of drunken students who form their audience.

"Thank you, Manchester," Matthew laughs. "We'll be here all week!"

Tom stops for a moment, staring pensively into the distance. "Nah, mate... you can't marry her."

"What? Why?"

"Because... she's your cousin."

"Ohhhh, no. No... it's fine. It's **really** distant. Like my father's uncle's sister's mother's auntie's dog's brother is Mary's great-great-great grandfather or something. It's cool, it's fine... it's legal. I am a lawyer, I know these things."

Tom nods and claps Matthew on the back. "Good. You'll be perfect together. Seriously, I mean that." And, with that, they finally make their way inside.

**_-xxx-_**

The front door creaks open rather loudly and Tom shushes it which makes Matthew giggle like a schoolboy.

"Ssshhhh... You'll wake the baby," he hisses, not at Matthew, but at the door.

"The baby is already awake!" he hears his wife call from the baby's room. Even sober, the sight of her sitting there in the antique rocking chair – a gift from her parents – with Saoirse cradled in her arms would tug at his heartstrings, but now it just makes him downright emotional. Matthew too looks upon the scene with adoration, knowing that this is what his own life will look like in the very near future. The baby girl who, tomorrow, will officially become his niece is beautiful, and he suddenly feels incredibly broody. He missed out on so much of this when his own daughter was just a baby and it continues to eat him up inside. He knows he shouldn't have told Tom about Mary's pregnancy but, in all honesty, it feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders, even if she is going to kill him for letting the secret slip.

"Watching and learning, eh?"

Matthew laughs. "Something like that."

Sybil notices that the two men are sharing a look – she has a similar one that she shares with Mary and Edith when they know something that nobody else does. "I'm sorry," she whispers, gently putting a now sleeping Saoirse back into her cot. "Am I missing something here?"

Tom nods. "Your sister's having a baby."

It takes everything Sybil has not to squeal and wake her daughter again. Instead, she launches herself into Matthew's arms, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. "Oh, Matthew, that's wonderful! Congratulations. I get to be an aunt! Well, to my side of the family," she adds – she's already an aunt to a brood of Branson's across the sea.

"Thank you," Matthew says, suddenly feeling incredibly drowsy. "But... but you're not supposed to know. **Nobody** is supposed to know. Your parents don't know, neither does my mother. So, please, just keep it secret... we want to tell everyone when we get back from Italy."

Sybil is positively beaming – she's suspected that Mary's been hiding something for a while now. As both a mother and a doctor, she would have put money on it being a pregnancy – and it seems her gamble would have paid off. "Of course. Now, get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow and, as for you," she points at Tom. "Bed... now."

"Oooh, promises promises," he laughs, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist and giving her a rather sloppy kiss. He tastes of fags, kebabs, and whisky... it's not attractive.

"Not a chance," Sybil says, batting him away. With the state these two are in, she thinks tomorrow is going to be a very interesting day.

**_-xxx-_**

Saturday dawns and, feeling a little worse for wear, Matthew pads out of the spare room and flops down onto the living room sofa next to Tom, who looks surprisingly fresh for someone who had drank as much as he had.

"Bacon's in the pan. That and a brew will cure everything you've got"

"Thanks," Matthew croaks. His head is absolutely pounding and he feels sick - though his building nerves have probably got something to do with the latter. "God, all I can taste is that kebab."

"Tell me about it... mornin' darlin!" he calls to Sybil, seeing her emerge from their bedroom. She'd been in the shower when he'd finally surfaced, and was now ready to leave. The wedding was being held at her parent's country estate in Yorkshire, just over an hour's drive away. She was going on ahead to get ready with her sisters.

"Alright well, let me know when your mother gets here. Are you sure she doesn't mind having Saoirse for one night? She's come all the way from Dublin to see us and we're going off to Yorkshire and..."

"Yes, she said that she'd love nothing more. Now, go, or you'll be late."

"Alright... and you two will be alright with her until then?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be fine," Matthew says. Two men and a six month old baby - what's the worst that could happen? Actually, don't answer that.

"Good. Besides, you could use the practise," she smiles. And with that, she's gone.

Matthew buries his head in his hands as Sybil's words sink in. "Oh God, I told you, didn't I?"

"Yup."

"Mary is going to kill me..."

**_-xxx-_**

Ten years had passed. They'd been on and off more times than Ken and Deirdre Barlow (she'd gotten rather into Coronation Street - proclaiming it 'research' for when she had moved to Manchester with him in those early few months after graduation), other lovers had come and gone, but they'd always found a way back to each other. This was it now though, this was for keeps. He'd taken his time about it, but when he'd finally asked **the **question at her parent's New Year's Eve party; she had answered him in a heartbeat... "Yes".

Mary smoothes the pristine white fabric, hands lingering a little longer than necessary on her abdomen. Thankfully, she hasn't started to show yet and her secret is safe – they've chosen to keep it to themselves so that they can focus on the wedding and surprise the family when they return from their honeymoon. She'd even feigned tonsillitis last week, using antibiotics as an excuse to cover the fact she isn't drinking. It's a perfectly crafted plan, one that is foolproof – well, almost.

"It's alright," Sybil says as she fastens the back of Mary's gown. "I know."

"Know what?" she asks with an unconvincing smile.

Sybil sighs. "About... the baby."

Mary's face drops. "But... how?"

"Matthew accidentally told Tom when they went out last night, and then Tom told me. I'm sorry, I know you wanted to keep it a secret and I wouldn't have said anything but, I know what you're going through right now... I know how overwhelming and scary it can be. So, I'm here, if you want to talk."

Mary takes her little sister's hands in her own. "You're a darling, do you know that? Oh, it's wonderful to tell someone!"

"I'm happy for you. So very, truly happy... and you look beautiful. When are you...?"

Sybil doesn't get chance to finish her question as their mother, grandmother, and Edith slip into Mary's bedroom, each holding a box in their hands.

"Oh, darling!" Cora exclaims. "You look beautiful."

"But there's something missing," Violet adds.

"Rather a lot, actually," Edith agrees.

Sybil crosses to the other side of the room and pulls a gift bag from down the side of the bed. "But, luckily for you, we might have one or two things to fix that. Edith, would you do the honours?"

Edith nods and hands Mary the first box. "Something old. It was Sybil's idea, and a friend of mine back in Paris was able to do it for us." Inside the box were Mary's favourite four leaf clover earrings... her good luck charm, the ones she had been wearing the night she and Matthew had finally admitted their feelings for one another – the night they had first kissed in the library. However, a single diamond now adorned the centre of each stud, one from each of her sisters.

"Thank you, both of you... I'd been looking for these," she laughs, slipping them into her ears.

Next, Cora presents her with her something new – three new charms for her bracelet. One is a solid gold and diamond heart, the others are matching white gold flowers. She knows what her something borrowed is – it's the same hair ornament worn by Crawley brides for the past hundred years. She's seen the photos of her mother, of her grandmother as a wartime bride, and, most recently, of Sybil on her own wedding day.

"Even though I'd like to think I had more of a part to play in this marriage than adhering to tradition."

"Sorry?"

"Mary, dear, who was it that went to see Matthew after he'd had that ghastly injury of his playing that ridiculous sport, and convinced him that he was a fool if he didn't take you back?"

"Oh, Granny," Mary sighs. "I suppose you do deserve some credit for all of this," she laughs. The last time they had broken up had been about three years ago, shortly after Sybil and Tom had married. Mere weeks later, she'd received a frantic phone call from her brother-in-law in the middle of the night to tell her that Matthew had fractured his spine after a scrum had collapsed during a match. She'd sat by his side, day and night, as the doctors had assessed the damage – for a while, it had been touch and go as to whether he would ever walk again. Those long weeks and months were some of the most horrible she had ever known, as though she had been thrown into the very fires of hell as punishment for all the sins she had ever committed, for someone she loved so dearly to be hurt like that – even to this day, she still can't bring herself to think about what it must have been like for Matthew, because she knows it was so much worse for him. It was during this time that she realised her love for him had always been unconditional, and just how much they needed each other. Yes, they fought and argued a hell of a lot, but it's just who they were together – and together was when they worked best. Sure enough, he'd been paid a visit by none other than Violet Crawley, who had been about two seconds away from physically beating sense into him with that stick of hers, telling him that it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were still madly in love. By some complete miracle, the final attempt at surgery had been a success and, some months later, Mary had been surprised – in the best way possible – to find Matthew standing at her front door in a tuxedo, bringing gifts of a dozen red roses and a Chinese takeaway, and the most heartfelt apology she had ever heard in her life...

...And they haven't looked back since.

After Cora and Violet vanish again in search of the girls' father, Sybil is eager to move on to the gift she holds in her hand. "Now, these are from Matthew and come with **very** strict instructions. Close your eyes!"

"Sybil?"

"Just do it," the youngest laughs. "And hold out your hands!"

Mary does as she's told (for once in her life) and, when given permission, opens her eyes. She gasps upon the first sight of that iconic turquoise box with the white ribbon – One of the first things she ever told him about herself was that her favourite film is Breakfast at Tiffany's, and he'd always promised to buy her something from there one day. "_Oh, Matthew Crawley... what have you done_?" she thinks to herself as she opens it with trembling hands. The words 'Tiffany & Co' make the butterflies in her stomach flutter even more, but it's nothing compared to what she feels when she finally sees what's inside. Her jaw drops – she'd been eyeing up this necklace for an awful long time so she knows exactly how much it cost him. The fool, the bloody fool – she didn't deserve it. She doesn't even think she deserves **him** most of the time, and thanks her lucky stars that she has been afforded such great fortune. The necklace is simple and understated, classically beautiful and elegant – just as she is. It's platinum, adorned with two diamonds and a single sapphire – her something blue.

Edith is behind her in a flash to fasten it. "Someone's been spoilt," she laughs. All animosity between the two sisters had vanished years ago – they'd grown up so much since then. With Edith working in Paris much of the year, it was easy to tell that absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

"You're telling me!"

"There's more. You have to open this first though," she says, handing Mary an envelope.

_My darling, Mary_

_ Well, we made it. It's taken us a while, but I suppose good things do come to those who wait. It only seems like yesterday that you walked into that dingy student flat, all shiny and polished looking like you'd jumped out the pages of a glossy magazine while the rest of us slobbed around in our tracksuit bottoms – I honestly didn't know what to make of you. You were from a different world, and you both intimidated and fascinated me at the same time. I don't know how or why it happened, but I'm eternally grateful for the friendship we formed all those years ago. Do you remember the words I said to you that night in the library? Suppressio veri – the suppression of truth. It was the first night we kissed. The first night that, I think, we were ever truly honest with one another about our feelings. I feel that now, ten years later, I must make a similar confession. So, here it is – the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. _

_ I love you, and surely you know that right now - both of you, if you catch my drift. But I never did thank you for all that time you sat with me in the hospital after I was injured. I had been awful to you, those few weeks before we split up, and I deserved every single one of those harsh words you said to me... even the broken nose (which, I must say, you did a rather good job on – it was a clean break and healed up quite nicely). I heard you talking, when you thought I was still anaesthetised – you said you'd understand if I despised you for all the times you were mean to me. Well, here's the first truth – I never once despised you. I never **could**_ _despise you. Do you know, I don't even remember what it was that we had argued about that night that made you leave. How silly it all seems now. You didn't have to be my constant companion; you owed me nothing – now it seems I am the one who owes you my life. I couldn't have done it without you, love. Not at all – you gave me something to fight for. _

_I suppose you're wondering by now what your second gift it – Sybil is under pain of death to do this right. She has the other box – ask her for it. Got it? Good. Now, before you open it, I think it needs some context. A few days after my second operation, you sat cross-legged at the end of my bed. We ate a packet of Rolos and you told me that I could never have loved you, because not once did I ever give you my last one. I don't remember that day because of everything else that happened, like being told I'd probably never walk again, but because you sat there and held my hand through it all, making me laugh for the first time in so very long. I do love you, I always have loved you, and while I believe giving you an entire packet of last Rolos would indeed be a very nice, romantic gesture, it does seem rather pointless. So here's another... _

_ ...Open the box._

Mary opens the box and laughs, suddenly aware that tears are streaming down her face. Her make-up is probably ruined, but she doesn't care. He's doing it again – doing what **they **always do – bearing his soul to her at the most random times and in the strangest ways. They've never spoken about that time, not really, because it's hard for him to talk about. For him to make this confession, to reveal a long suppressed truth, on their wedding day makes her love him even more – something she never thought possible.

"Oh Matthew, you utter dork," she giggles.

"What is it?" Edith asks – she and Sybil having been sharing confused and concerned looks as Mary had read Matthew's letter.

"It... it's his last Rolo."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You know you're loved when somebody gives you your last Rolo."

"Yes, I know what that means, but... why?"

Mary hands Edith the letter. "It's all in there," she says, taking his gift out of the box. It's a solid silver charm in the shape of a Rolo, and he's had the letters '_MJC_' and the date engraved on the bottom – what were the chances of them having exactly the same initials (he is Matthew James, she Mary Josephine)? Maybe they were just made for each other after all.

"I think it's adorable," Sybil laughs as she fixes Mary's make-up, adding her veil as the final touch. "There, you're ready. You look stunning."

"You really do, Mary," Edith agrees. "He won't be able to keep his eyes... hang on... what does he mean _both of you_?"

Mary sighs – it looks like the truth is going to come out much sooner than she had hoped.

**_-xxx-_**

Archie William Crawley makes his entrance into the world two days before Christmas. He's Matthew in miniature, save for the shock of thick hair the same colour as Mary's. Their son is, in a word, perfect – the best Christmas present ever.

Mary curls on the sofa in the living room of her parent's London home – watching the unfolding scene in a state of lethargy. She smiles contentedly as everyone fusses over baby Archie, laughing as the ever inquisitive Saoirse already looks to be fiercely protective over her cousin, and seven year old Lily eyes her half-brother with a look that she remembers having when Edith was born. It's hard to believe her niece is almost one – so much has changed in a year. She flexes her fingers on her right hand, her brand new eternity ring (a beautiful gift from her husband) glitters in under the lights of the Christmas tree – twelve diamonds in all. One for every year they've known one another.

She feels Matthew tickle the sole of her bare foot, and shuffles to cuddle up to his side as he joins her, wrapping a blanket around his wife's shoulders.

"Happy?"

"Blissfully," Mary replies, resting her head against his shoulder. "I love you."

"Love you too," Matthew answers and kisses the top of her head. His mother has hold of her grandson now, and he swears he can actually see Isobel's heart swell with pride as she looks over at him and Mary nestled together on the settee. He wishes that time could just freeze and that they could stay locked in this moment forever – she's lived her life, he's lived his. Now they're living them together and everything is perfect...

...And that's the honest-to-God truth.

**_THE END_**

* * *

_Huge, massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed and put this on their alerts and stuff - it really is the best compliment a writer can receive. Also, massive shout out to pemonynen who, over on Tumblr, has been encouraging me all afternoon to give into the madness that is this chapter - and who I also have to thank for the whole 'last rolo' concept, and whose Modern!AUs have been something of an inspiration._

_You do indeed deserve my last rolo. _


End file.
